The Age of Innocence[純真年代] [平裝] 下載 mobi epub pdf 電子書 2025

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The winner of the 1921 Pulitzer Prize, Wharton's acclaimed novel is the story of a passion threatened by convention and played out against a backdrop or New York City's upper class, unimaginable wealth, and unavoidable tragedy. Revised reissue.

《純真時代》是伊迪絲·華頓的傑齣代錶作品。華頓把愛倫--全書的靈魂人物的性格的各個側麵都描寫的栩栩如生。她的溫柔、善良、勇敢、真實，尤其是她展現齣來的犧牲精神更是伴隨著故事的發展而升華。

內容簡介

The 1920s novel of a passion threatened by convention and played outagainst a backdrop of New York City-s upper class, unimaginable wealth,and unavoidable tragedy.

《純真年代》講述透過老紐約社會培養齣的最優秀的青年———紐蘭，通過他保守的思想和雙眼，奧蘭斯卡伯爵夫人的形象就是一個極為風情、大膽的女子，有些輕浮、有些散漫，看起來和老紐約社會上的
貴族是那樣的不同，在他看來這樣的女人也不可能具有什麼高貴的品質。但是隨著故事的展開，奧蘭斯卡伯爵夫人的許多優秀的品質被顯現齣來，尤其是她的人道主義的犧牲精神展現得尤為突齣。

作者簡介

Edith Wharton:One of America's most important novelists, Edith Wharton was a refined, relentless chronicler of the Gilded Age and its social mores. Along with close friend Henry James, she helped define literature at the turn of the 20th century, even as she wrote classic nonfiction on travel, decorating and her own life.

伊迪絲·華頓（Edith Wharton, 1862年1月24日－1937年8月11日），是19 世紀末女性現實主義作傢的代錶，她的一生推齣瞭近十餘部作品，包括中、長篇小說、詩歌、傳記和文學批評等不同體裁。由於她生活的局限性，她的小說一般都是以一種極其細膩的手法描寫著貴族生活，所以也被人稱為溫和現實主義作傢。美國女作傢，作品有《高尚的嗜好》、《純真年代》、《四月裏的陣雨》、《馬恩河》、《戰地英雄》等書。

精彩書評

"One of the best novels of the 20th century."
--NY Times Book Review

"The winner of the 1921 Pulitzer Prize, Wharton's acclaimed novel is the story of a passion threatened by convention and played out against a backdrop or New York City's upper class, unimaginable wealth, and unavoidable tragedy."
-- Revised reissue.

精彩書摘

ON A January evening of the early seventies, Christine Nilsson was singing in "Faust" at the Academy of Music in New York.

Though there was already talk of the erection, in remote metropolitan distances "above the Forties," of a new Opera House which should compete in costliness and splendour with those of the great European capitals, the world of fashion was still content to reassemble every winter in the shabby red and gold boxes of the sociable old Academy. Conservatives cherished it for being small and inconvenient, and thus keeping out the "new people" whom New York was beginning to dread and yet be drawn to; and the sentimental clung to it for its historic associations, and the musical for its excellent acoustics, always so problematic a quality in halls built for the hearing of music.

It was Madame Nilsson's first appearance that winter, and what the daily press had already learned to describe as "an exceptionally brilliant audience" had gathered to hear her, transported through the slippery, snowy streets in private broughams, in the spacious family landau, or in the humbler but more convenient "Brown coupé." To come to the Opera in a Brown coupe was almost as honourable a way of arriving as in one's own carriage; and departure by the same means had the immense advantage of enabling one (with a playful allusion to democratic principles) to scramble into the first Brown conveyance in the line, instead of waiting till the cold-and-gin congested nose of one's own coachman gleamed under the portico of the Academy. It was one of the great livery-stableman's most masterly intuitions to have discovered that Americans want to get away from amusement even more quickly than they want to get to it.

When Newland Archer opened the door at the back of the club box the curtain had just gone up on the garden scene. There was no reason why the young man should not have come earlier, for he had dined at seven, alone with his mother and sister, and had lingered afterward over a cigar in the Gothic library with glazed black-walnut bookcases and finial-topped chairs which was the only room in the house where Mrs. Archer allowed smoking. But, in the first place, New York was a metropolis, and perfectly aware that in metropolises it was "not the thing" to arrive early at the opera; and what was or was not "the thing" played a part as important in Newland Archer's New York as the inscrutable totem terrors that had ruled the destinies of his forefathers thousands of years ago.

The second reason for his delay was a personal one. He had dawdled over his cigar because he was at heart a dilettante, and thinking over a pleasure to come often gave him a subtler satisfaction than its realisation. This was especially the case when the pleasure was a delicate one, as his pleasures mostly were; and on this occasion the moment he looked forward to was so rare and exquisite in quality that—well, if he had timed his arrival in accord with the prima donna's stage-manager he could not have entered the Academy at a more significant moment than just as she was singing: "He loves me—he loves me not—he loves me!—" and sprinkling the falling daisy petals with notes as clear as dew.

She sang, of course, "M'ama!" and not "he loves me," since an unalterable and unquestioned law of the musical world required that the German text of French operas sung by Swedish artists should be translated into Italian for the clearer understanding of English-speaking audiences. This seemed as natural to Newland Archer as all the other conventions on which his life was moulded: such as the duty of using two silver-backed brushes with his monogram in blue enamel to part his hair, and of never appearing in society without a flower (preferably a gardenia) in his buttonhole.

"M'ama . . . non m'ama . . ." the prima donna sang, and "M'ama!" with a final burst of love triumphant, as she pressed the dishevelled daisy to her lips and lifted her large eyes to the sophisticated countenance of the little brown Faust-Capoul, who was vainly trying, in a tight purple velvet doublet and plumed cap, to look as pure and true as his artless victim.

Newland Archer, leaning against the wall at the back of the club box, turned his eyes from the stage and scanned the opposite side of the house. Directly facing him was the box of old Mrs. Manson Mingott, whose monstrous obesity had long since made it impossible for her to attend the Opera, but who was always represented on fashionable nights by some of the younger members of the family. On this occasion, the front of the box was filled by her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Lovell Mingott, and her daughter, Mrs. Welland; and slightly withdrawn behind these brocaded matrons sat a young girl in white with eyes ecstatically fixed on the stage lovers. As Madame Nilsson's "M'ama!" thrilled out above the silent house (the boxes always stopped talking during the Daisy Song) a warm pink mounted to the girl's cheek, mantled her brow to the roots of her fair braids, and suffused the young slope of her breast to the line where it met a modest tulle tucker fastened with a single gardenia. She dropped her eyes to the immense bouquet of lilies-of-the-valley on her knee, and Newland Archer saw her white-gloved finger-tips touch the flowers softly. He drew a breath of satisfied vanity and his eyes returned to the stage.

No expense had been spared on the setting, which was acknowledged to be very beautiful even by people who shared his acquaintance with the Opera Houses of Paris and Vienna. The foreground, to the footlights, was covered with emerald green cloth. In the middle distance symmetrical mounds of woolly green moss bounded by croquet hoops formed the base of shrubs shaped like orange-trees but studded with large pink and red roses. Gigantic pansies, considerably larger than the roses, and closely resembling the floral pen-wipers made by female parishioners for fashionable clergymen, sprang from the moss beneath the rose-trees; and here and there a daisy grafted on a rose-branch flowered with a luxuriance prophetic of Mr. Luther Burbank's far-off prodigies.

In the centre of this enchanted garden Madame Nilsson, in white cashmere slashed with pale blue satin, a reticule dangling from a blue girdle, and large yellow braids carefully disposed on each side of her muslin chemisette, listened with downcast eyes to M. Capoul's impassioned wooing, and affected a guileless incomprehension of his designs whenever, by word or glance, he persuasively indicated the ground floor window of the neat brick villa projecting obliquely from the right wing.

"The darling!" though The Age of Innocence[純真年代] [平裝] 下載 mobi epub pdf txt 電子書 格式

評分☆☆☆☆☆

　　情感依舊壓抑糾結，他苦心經營的生活錶麵上盡善盡美，其中卻充滿瞭孤獨與無奈。他內心有一個賭注：將內心無能為力的情感寄托給天意。黃昏，金色的湖畔，愛人的背影。他想：要是帆船駛過燈塔之前她能轉過身來，他就上前去找她。他遠遠地望著她憑欄而立的背影，希望她也能心有靈犀的迴眸，許應他心中仿徨的情感一股繼續支持下去的力量。可她終究沒有轉身。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

單純無知的皮普慢慢習慣瞭倫敦的生活，和小時候打架的赫伯斯成瞭朋友和室友，從律師那裏拿錢揮霍，結識瞭律師手下的一個官員，在一個郝維辛小姐的親戚傢接受教育，並加入瞭一個愚蠢的俱樂部，並且堅持每星期去看望他喜愛的埃·斯黛拉，並沉湎於她的美色和謊言，並妒嫉一個和埃·斯黛拉來往密切的猥瑣齷齪的富有的鄉紳士，從而開始瞭他的交際活動。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

我並不同意他的觀點。我覺得“梅是純真的關鍵詞，外貌性格和愛的錶現。她的存在意味著一種近乎完美的世俗規範，沒有強製性，完全是自我要求，完全自然。她的犧牲在於錶麵看來不動聲色的製衡，她是一個比丈夫更具有傢庭責任感的女人，對她而言，守護一段愛情與婚姻，經營一個傢庭與傢族，不單純是為瞭粉飾繁華，為瞭虛僞禮儀和旁人的眼光，也是一種建構一種完美健全人格的必須。她嫁給瞭他，清醒地愛著他的愛，承擔著他的欺騙與齣軌，然後鎮定沉著地把一切交給歲月去醞釀成一種更高程度的和諧，固若金湯。她的端莊美好優秀維係著丈夫一貫的良好名聲，也無聲無息地化解每一種復雜，貼上飽經風霜的純真的標簽。”

評分☆☆☆☆☆

　　 許多年後，他已兩鬢如霜，和兒子一起靜靜地坐在埃倫窗口下的凳子上，凝視著帶涼棚的陽颱，在濃重的暮色中，夕陽反射在玻璃上，金色的光芒照亮瞭他的臉龐，他發現自己以為早已遠去的往事居然都曆曆在目，哪怕隻是刹那的光華，足以照亮整個生命，隻因為他從未遺忘。窗子關上瞭，他慢慢地站起來，轉身，然後消失在沉沉的暮靄之中。他的一生在愛與痛、期盼與等待中化為一個顫巍巍的背影，驀然迴首，往事恍然若夢。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

單純無知的皮普慢慢習慣瞭倫敦的生活，和小時候打架的赫伯斯成瞭朋友和室友，從律師那裏拿錢揮霍，結識瞭律師手下的一個官員，在一個郝維辛小姐的親戚傢接受教育，並加入瞭一個愚蠢的俱樂部，並且堅持每星期去看望他喜愛的埃·斯黛拉，並沉湎於她的美色和謊言，並妒嫉一個和埃·斯黛拉來往密切的猥瑣齷齪的富有的鄉紳士，從而開始瞭他的交際活動。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

　　

評分☆☆☆☆☆

　　假如“優雅”到瞭最高境界竟變成其反麵，帷幕後麵竟是空洞無物，那將怎麼辦呢？他看著梅——她最後一輪射中靶心後，正麵色紅潤、心態平靜地退齣場地——心中暗自想道：他還從未揭開過那片帷幕。她代錶著社會所代錶的錶相的和睦、穩定、友誼以及對不可推卸的責任，這些都是他曾一度認為是生活目標的東西，當他在埃倫身上發現瞭與他同樣的對生活的感受和對真實和自由的追求時，梅所代錶的社會虛僞被擊得粉碎。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

　　

評分☆☆☆☆☆

就那樣吧，寫的熱血沸騰的，其實跟我們各比起來顯得很幼稚

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